


Nothing

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dub-Con Fantasies, M/M, Manipulation, Masturbation, head games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:21:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris couldn't help the way his gaze flicked over Peter, and his damned form-fitting clothes, those ridiculous v-necks that went practically to his navel, showing off an unnecessarily muscular chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



“Argent.”

That smug, arrogant voice came out of nowhere and without a second's hesitation Chris had two guns, fully loaded with wolfsbane bullets, pointed right at where the voice had emerged from the shadows.

“What do you want, Hale?”

Without answering, Peter strolled casually out from between two trees, sauntering towards Chris a few steps, in that predatory way he had.

“What do you think I want?”

Chris couldn't help the way his gaze flicked over Peter, and his damned form-fitting clothes, those ridiculous v-necks that went practically to his navel, showing off an unnecessarily muscular chest.

It was just to assess threat, he told himself, but Peter smirked and stepped forwards another few steps.

Chris affected a disdaining expression. “Well, dressed like _that_ , I'd say you were headed to the nearest street corner.”

Peter reached out one claw and slid it along the barrel of the gun still pointed unwaveringly at his face as he pushed himself into Chris' personal space.

“And yet, we're all alone in the woods.”

With a smooth movement, determinedly _not_ reacting to Peter, the hunter tucked both weapons away in their holsters, and takes a step back, trying to turn the conversation back around on the younger man.

“Which makes it even more ridiculous that you look like you painted your clothes on.”

Peter followed Chris, keeping in his personal space, suddenly pushing him back into a tree, leaning in to whisper into the hunter's ear, even as the guns were once again pointed at his person.

“How else am I going to get you to look at me?”

Chris blinked once, then twice, as Peter pressed himself close enough for the older man to notice just how much Peter was enjoying the situation.

And then the werewolf pulled away and melted into the forest once more.

 

It's not until Chris gets home, inside his basement with its mountain ash barrier, that he allows himself to think about it. With Peter's there's always more going beneath the surface.

He turns it over and over in his mind and can't think of one reason why Peter would choose to distract him in this way. They weren't enemies anymore, not really. There was nothing supernatural currently happening that Chris was aware of.

He poured himself a glass of scotch and put his feet up on his desk, pursing his lips in frustration. He finds it very difficult to believe that Peter was actually attracted to him.

Not that Chris had any idea what the wolf's preferences were. Peter flirted with _everyone_ , but never went any further that he was aware of.

No, Chris found it difficult to believe that anyone would be attracted to _him_. He was old and grizzled, torn apart by a life of danger. He had scars both internal and external, a bad hip that acted up on rainy days, and he wasn't exactly known for his loving nature. No, there was nothing to be attracted to. Peter must be up to something, but what?

-

Peter flung himself back on his bed and swore in several languages at himself. _Stupid_. That had been so fucking stupid.

If he'd been sober, that would never had happened. Of course, there was no way he could have known that Chris would be out in the Preserve. And Peter could barely resist that man's scent on a day that he was fully lucid.

Peter had a bad habit of drinking after one of those little Pack meetings. There was no other way to cope with the crushing loss he felt as he looked around him. He looked at these beat up kids and remembered Talia and her mate in front, and a huge happy family gathered around them.

Now the Alpha wasn't even a Hale, they met in the place where his entire family was murdered, and what they did have kept dwindling.

Peter had plenty of reasons to drink. And the special wolfsbane powder that inhibited his healing let him get drunk.

He could only hope that Chris would brush it off as Peter's craziness and forget about it.

-

Chris didn't forget. Instead, he started watching Peter closely. And now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see evidence of _something_.

The way that Peter always seemed to be aware of where the hunter was in the room. The way the wolf's nostrils flared slightly when Chris made a point to walk by. Most damning was the way that Peter had known exactly how he took his coffee without asking.

Either he was infatuated, or he was planning to poison Chris. The hunter considered those equally plausible scenarios.

So, when Peter vanished from the Pack meeting, Chris followed. At a distance, of course. Peter would sniff him out right away. Fortunately for Chris, tracking devices came in the scentless variety, and were easily slipped into a torn jacket lining.

-

As he fades into the shadows, Peter hears Stiles' obnoxious voice. “Where'd Uncle Badtouch go?”

Derek must glare at him because the human goes off about his eyebrows of doom and Peter shakes his head.

He knows what they think of him. He doesn't really like them either, but they're what he's got for a pack. Peter does his best not to let them get under his skin. Mouthy humans and clueless wolves, none of whom listen to him.

They're all idiots, but they're his idiots, and constant insults and murder threats can grate on anyone. Peter never shows it, but he thinks about it, and defends himself in his head when he's drinking.

Humans get a pass when they wake up from trauma a little less than 100% sane. His pack had killed him. They all thought he'd deliberately tried to kill them, but Peter hadn't even known who they were.  He had been lost in a haze of grief and misery for a long time. And that's before what Jennifer the nurse had done to him.

Even before the fire, Peter had kept his feelings close to the vest, playing it off with humor and deflection. Before she became Alpha, Talia never let him get away with it. She was the only one who had ever cared.

Afterward, well there was no one to talk to except the nephew who idolized him. And Derek had stopped giving a damn about Peter a long time ago.

Right about the time of the Paige incident. Peter just hadn't wanted to lose anyone else. He'd lost Derek anyways.

And then after the fire, Laura had stuck him in the hospital and vanished. Peter would have been healed a lot sooner with his pack around him. _You'd think I'd be used to being left by now._

Peter shrugs it off, dumps the magic powder in his scotch and drinks his feelings away like he does every night.

-

Chris sits in his SUV, a few blocks away and notes the address that the tracer is currently located at. He considers a map and puts the vehicle in gear, going through some alleys and going the wrong way down a one-way, but eventually, he can see the window to Peter's apartment.

With his binoculars, of course. If he gets too close, Peter will sniff him out.

Chris isn't sure what he's going to do with the information yet. He just sits and watches for a while, deeply suspicious. As far as he knows, the only people Peter has actually killed were those responsible for the death of his pack, which admittedly does include his baby sister.  And yet, every fiber of his being knows that Peter is the most dangerous thing around.

He goes back and forth about what game Peter might be playing for a few hours, and then just as Chris decides to leave, he sees movement at the fire escape. Peter is climbing down.

Chris watches the werewolf, who seems a bit unsteady on his feet, as he makes his way North towards the Preserve. He suddenly recalls that when their last evening encounter took place, it was also after a pack meeting.

Impulsively, Chris decides to search the wolf's apartment. He gathers some things from the back of his SUV, and then cautiously makes his way towards Peter's lair. He has to make a few jumps to catch the bottom of the stairs, wincing as he comes down on his hip awkwardly once. He's really too old for this kind of thing.

He climbs up the fire escape easily enough though, and ducks into the apartment through the still open window. Quickly and carefully, Chris searches the place, which is very nicely decorated, and doesn't come up with anything particularly interesting until he gets to the bedroom.

The bed is unmade and mussed, a marked contrast to the obsessive neatness of the rest of the place. There's a nearly empty bottle of high end scotch, and a small paper packet next to it. Chris delicately picks it up with gloved hands and sniffs. Wolfsbane.

Is Peter poisoning himself? That makes no sense to Chris. He moves closer to the bed, crouching down to look beneath it and finds something else interesting.

Shirts. _All his_.

Chris unfolds them and recognizes ones that he'd given up for lost after being injured in a fight, or that one stay in the hospital, and one was from his extra set, right out of the SUV.

He grins slowly. Chris has all the evidence that he needs now. Time to leave a message.

He shrugs off his leather jacket, the one that he practically lives in, and folds it carefully, leaving it on Peter's pillow after making the bed.

Chris stuffs the shirts in his satchel, and retreats the way he came, using some of the precious and expensive scent blocker that he has, to cover his tracks from the window on back to the car.

Chris smirks as he drives home, wondering how Peter will react.

-

Peter is still somewhat inebriated when he arrives home from his run, and doesn't notice a thing until he throws himself on his bed and is hit with a wall of Chris' scent. For a half-second he thinks he's imagining it, until he reaches out for the pillow and his hand touches cold leather instead. Peter sits up slowly, suddenly on edge, adrenaline surging as he searches the shadows. He goes through his entire apartment, until he's certain that Chris is not here currently.

He returns to the bedroom, following the scent trail to the window, where it vanishes. He stands at his window for a long time, leather jacket in hand, and stares out over the city.

Then Peter has a thought and looks into his hiding place. The carefully guarded trove of shirts, his only indulgence when it comes to Chris...is gone. And in its place... Peter eyes the leather jacket. The hunter never takes this thing off.

Is this a message? From Chris? From someone else? Peter doesn't know.

He hates not knowing.

It doesn't stop him from curling around the jacket like it's a child's teddy bear and drifting off to sleep.

-

Peter may be overly intelligent, but Chris has been a hunter his entire life. He knows with some prey, you have to let it walk into the trap itself.

So he's patient.

Chris doesn't change anything. He doesn't pay any more attention to Peter, on the rare times that they're cohabiting the same room, than he does anyone else. He doesn't seek the werewolf out, he avoids the Preserve on pack meeting nights, and he doesn't go near Peter's area of town.

What Chris does do, is a lot of thinking, and a lot of research. Certain things become crystal clear.

Fact 1.) Werewolves who are interested in a casual hookup do not saturate their lairs with said intended's scent.

Fact 2.) Werewolves are the kind to be monogamous, meaning they only have one intended at a time.

Fact 3.) Peter Hale keeps his weaknesses extremely well hidden, just like the shirts.

Fact 4.) Chris had lost that first shirt mere days after Peter came back from the dead.

Fact 5.) Werewolves can use scent to calm themselves when their anchor isn't available.

Fact 6.) Werewolves anchors are often their mate.

Conclusion: _Peter Hale is in love with him._

-

There are a lot of things Peter needs to be concentrating on right now. Chris Argent isn't one of them.

Yet here he is, lurking on the roof of the house across from Chris', watching like the creep that the pack all think he is.

Chris wanders past the open window of the bedroom and Peter nearly falls over. Chris is clad only in a pair of boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination.

The werewolf twitches at a cracking noise, and looks down to see that he's torn part of the roof off.

Peter looks up to see Chris standing at the window, looking his way, and flattens himself against the roof. There's no way that the hunter could know he was here, no way those gorgeous blue eyes can even see this far.

Peter's not taking any chances. Other than the incredibly stupid one he's taking right now by stalking an Argent hunter, of course.

He watches Chris grab a towel and head out of the bedroom, and now Peter is tormented by thought of the human in the shower.

It's time for him to go.

Before long, Peter's in his own shower, panting into the steam as he slides his soapy hand along his rock-hard cock, one hand braced on the tile wall. He's imagining them showering together, Chris' hand on him like this, whispers from that sexy-as-fuck voice in his ear... And then Chris' fingers sliding down across Peter's ass, parting his cheeks and sliding slick fingers between them and then inside him... And that's enough for Peter, who spends himself onto the shower wall, whispering Chris' name into the uncaring silence of his apartment.

-

Chris knows Peter was there. The brilliant werewolf still hadn't found the tracking device tucked into the lining of his jacket. Chris finds this incredibly amusing. Now he always knows where Peter is.

He watches the dot on his phone move away, and waits until it settles at Peter's apartment before climbing into his shower.

Chris thinks about shoving the younger man up against this shower wall, holding him in place with a hand around his throat as he fucks Peter hard. He imagines Peter's voice wavering in whispered plea, making him beg for Chris to let him finish, imagines forcing Peter to his knees and then covering the werewolf's face with his come.

It doesn't take him long to finish, breathing hard into the cold tiles and wondering how long he's going to let this game continue.

It's later, when he's in his bed alone that Chris decides to up the ante the next day.

Chris has noticed Peter in the same area every Saturday morning. He drives by today and sees a Farmer's Market.

He parks the car and goes shopping. It's nearly an hour later when his phone beeps, telling him that the tracker is on the move. Chris casually pays for his groceries, and heads back home.

His scent will be all over the place, but he'll be gone by the time Peter gets there.

-

It takes two weeks of this for Peter to crack.

Two weeks of smelling Chris at random places all over town. And yet Chris is never at any of the places when Peter goes looking.

He sets his jaw and in a fit of temper, throws his jacket across the room. And that's when Peter hears it, supernatural hearing picking up the _tink_ of something that shouldn't be there.

With a claw, Peter rips through the lining and finds the tiny computerized device. He knows _immediately_ where it came from, recalling the break-in at his apartment, sensing Chris everywhere he goes....

At first, he feels a rush of rage, _how dare he,_ but then Peter's analytical mind kicks in and he can't help but laugh.

“You clever, canny, son of a bitch.”  Peter studies the tracker and plots his revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Peter does is move.

He splits the next week between apartment shopping and keeping up his regular schedule with the tracker tucked in his pocket. No need to let Chris know that he's on to him.

The next Monday, he's scheduled to look at a place downtown. It's spacious but pricey, not that Peter doesn't have plenty of cash on hand, and he wants to see if the place will suit his needs.

It does. Peter moves his base of operations there, taking his time fortifying it with the best security money can buy.

-

The next pack meeting, Peter takes the tracking device with him, and when no one is looking, inserts it into Stiles' bookbag.

That will keep Chris confused for a little while.

He leaves the meeting right away, and instead of drowning himself in his cups, Peter goes to Chris' house. He wanders through, noting the places he can't get into, but mostly familiarizes himself with the things that Chris surrounds himself with.

Peter scents every room, just as Chris had done in his apartment. Chris won't be able to smell it, but Isaac will, and he will tell Chris. It's the best Peter can do for now. He especially takes his time stretching out in Chris' bed, going so far as to spray a faint mist of his cologne on the sheets. That's a scent that even Chris' human nose can understand.

Then Peter goes into the bathroom, unashamedly stealing some of Chris' shirts from the hamper there. He leaves the jacket folded on top of the basket's lid.

Peter leaves after that. But only just far enough to his vantage point on that poor abused roof down the street.

He doesn't have long to wait. Apparently, Isaac has invited Stiles and Scott over for a while. Peter smirks as the two wolves jerk their heads back, eyes glowing gold and red respectively. Stiles raises his voice in question and they shake their heads.

Peter continues to keep watch, wondering how long it will take Chris to realize that the tracker is in his house.

Not that long, apparently. Chris bursts in his front door, gun at the ready, to the confused glances of three teenagers. There's a quick intense discussion and the wolves and Chris split up, each taking a floor to comb.

Peter is highly entertained.

When they meet back in the living room, there's an intense discussion and Chris finds the tracker in Stiles' bag. The kid shrugs and then he and Scott go back to their games, while Isaac pulls Chris aside to speak privately.

Chris goes up the stairs and into his bedroom, stopping about halfway in, presumably as the scent of Peter's cologne registers. He turns a moment, then opens the window, eyes looking directly towards Peter's hiding place. _Of course_ , Peter thinks, _he had the device the last time I was here_.

He would have to find a new perch. For now, it's time for him to curl up in his new bed.

-

Chris stares out the open window, wondering if Peter is out there watching. He'd bet an entire shipment of rifles that Peter was over on that rooftop, though he couldn't see that far.

He turns from his window and runs a hand through his hair. And then stares at the bed a while. He takes a step forward and reaches out to grab his pillow, pulling it to him. It smells like Peter's cologne, yes, but also his underlying scent as well.

Born wolves often forget that humans do have a sense of smell. With the rumpled covers it becomes obvious that Peter didn't just scent the room, he fucking rolled around in Chris' bed.

And if Chris sleeps there, he's going to smell like Peter.

 _...like Peter and him together._ He wonders how Peter would react to that.

He thinks it over as he heads downstairs and makes dinner for the three bottomless pits.

It's a weekend, and the Sheriff is working, so they all head to Stiles' house after dinner.

Chris goes into the bathroom for a shower and sees the jacket. He arches a brow and opens the hamper to see his clothes missing.

He shakes his head with a chuckle and makes up his mind. Chris goes back to his bedroom, strips, spreads the jacket over the sheets so that he can lay on it, and stretches out in his bed.

He closes his eyes and loses himself in the scent of the younger man, and his fantasy.

Chris imagines walking into his office to see Peter lounging there, casually insolent, making some crack about the security around this place. He would reach out and grab a fistful of Peter's shirt, a gun pressed up against his chin and demand to know what the werewolf wants.

Chris slides a hand along his body, tweaking his nipples briefly before moving down and curling his fingers lightly around his shaft. He gradually adds pressure and speed to his strokes as the fantasy progresses.

Peter would look up at him (even though in reality they are exactly the same height) and respond mockingly. “What do you think I want, Argent?” and then Chris would jerk him close and kiss him demandingly, claiming him with that kiss.

Then he'd turn the younger man, shove his face in Chris' desk, and pin his body to it while cuffing his hands behind him. Chris would use a knife to cut away Peter's stupidly tight jeans. He wouldn't be wearing anything underneath, of course.

Chris' breath hitches as he gets closer to his release and he slows his hand down, wanting to draw his out, to savour it.

The hunter thinks about holding Peter down, of slicking up his fingers with the contents of a convenient bottle and thrusting them inside the werewolf without warning. Chris imagines the noises that Peter will make as he opens him up, prepares him. He would reach around and stroke Peter to hardness, whispering filth into his ear until he begs to be fucked.

Chris would take him then, one forceful thrust after another, as he tells the younger man that he will come like this or not at all. He would fill Peter with his seed, digging his fingers with bruising force into the other man's hips, as he orgasms as well. He would reach out and scoop up Peter's fluids, mixing it with his own and then paint the wolf's chest with it before freeing him from the cuffs.

Chris can't hold back anymore and whispers Peter's name as he spills on his stomach, using the sheets to clean himself off after a moment.

He tries to imagine Peter staying after, curling up together, limbs twined in a shared bed...but he can't.

Chris pushes off from the bed, heading into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

-

Its nearly a week later when Peter visits his old apartment to get the last of his things and finds the white clothing box on top of his small stack of moving crates.

He sniffs but can't scent wolfsbane or electronics, or anything else dangerous, and so he cautiously opens it up to see the coat in a large ziploc bag. Frowning, Peter slides the zipper open and is slapped in the face with the mixed scents of himself and Chris... and sex.

His dick is instantly hard and Peter pulls the leather fully free of the bag, taking a deep inhalation and groaning aloud into the empty room. “You son of a bitch,” Peter mutters. “You mother fucking magnificent _asshole_.”

Peter glances at his phone. He's got 25 minutes before the super is coming to get the keys.

“Fuck.” He goes into the bathroom and bangs his head against the wall once before pulling the jacket close to him once more, and then unzips his jeans and takes himself in hand.

Peter thinks about Chris wearing this jacket, lying back on his bad and touching himself while thinking about Peter.

He imagines slipping in through that bedroom window, and watching Chris' hand slide along his length. Peter would creep over and quickly move Chris' hand away and slide his tongue along it, relishing in the taste of his mate.

 

He thinks about Chris' hand settling on the back of his head, holding him in place, then pressing down, forcing him to deep throat the hunter's cock. Peter imagines the older man then tugging his head back with a harsh grasp and pulling him forward, thinks about Chris reaching around and spreading his ass, arranging Peter in the position Chris wants, and then impaling the werewolf on his cock.

Peter envisions riding him until they finish together, spilling over Chris' stomach and chest while the hunter comes inside him. He thinks about cleaning Chris with his tongue afterwards, and spurts into the wad of toilet paper into his hand.

Peter takes a few gasping breaths as he hears the super coming down the hallway. He quickly puts himself away and flushes the toilet, washes up and completes the transaction.

Peter sleeps in the jacket that night.

-

Chris is on edge for nearly a month after leaving that jacket for Peter. It was obvious that the wolf had moved out, and since he'd ditched the device on Stiles, Chris had no idea where he was anymore.

He didn't like it. Chris was not ashamed to admit that he'd enjoyed having that power over the werewolf.

When Peter doesn't show up at the next meeting, Chris doesn't get worried. No, he's just _curious_. Not worried. Being worried about a werewolf would be useless. Especially Peter Hale. If there was anyone who could take of himself... Still, the wolf never missed an opportunity to mock the pack.

Chris waits until Stiles' mentions something that would require research.

“Nothing like that in the Argent bestiary,” he mentions casually, knowing that Stiles will turn to look for Peter next. But he doesn't.

_Curiouser and curiouser..._

He can't ask about Peter. That would raise eyebrows, especially after the house scenting incident. Stiles and Derek are obviously not concerned about the elder Hale's absence. Chris can't guarantee that they'd care if there was something wrong, but he at least thinks there'd be some discussion.

It'll have to do for now.

-

Chris finds out that Peter is back when he comes home to find a long white flower box laying on his bed.

He arches a brow and opens it carefully, half-suspecting some sort of explosion or poison. There's a single long-stemmed white rose lying on top of black tissue paper. Chris carefully pulls the rose out, setting it aside, lips twitching in a smirk as he sees the thorns still attached. They have to be specially ordered that way; if you get them from a shop, they've already been de-thorned.

He gingerly unfolds the black paper and both eyes open wide at what's inside. It's a custom made sword, the artisan's mark on the hilt.

Carefully, Chris slides it free.

The blade slices through a stray corner of tissue paper as it comes free, the edge razor sharp.

The balance is perfect.

Chris turns the hilt over to see an engraving: **épine d'argent**.

_Silverthorn._

_-_

He hangs it on his bedroom wall. The rose goes in a vase on the table by the window.

Chris sometimes lays there at night and stares at the blade or the rose, which shows no sign of wilting for some reason, and wonders.

It's obvious the game has changed, and Chris is no longer sure what the rules are. He can't think of anything that he could come up with that can match the gift. He's not even certain that he wants to. This.. whatever it was.. between them for the past year or so had been like light flirting. He feels like it suddenly got very heavy. The hunter isn't sure what he's going to do about Peter.

Chris does nothing.

-

Peter gives it a month before he lets himself consider the possibility that his gift was not well-received. He'd thought about it a long time before he'd commissioned that sword. It seemed to be the perfect thing to get someone who had spent his life obsessed with the supernatural.

After 32 days (he's _not_ counting, he just _happened_ to have glanced at the calendar today), Peter decides it was apparently not.

He spends the night wrapped in Chris' coat, and then Peter puts it back in the plastic bag and tucks it under the bed. He'll need to preserve the scent.

Peter tells himself that he's been through worse things. He's lost his anchor twice before. He'll live.

He decides on some retail therapy.

-

Peter is just about to button up this deep blue armani dress shirt, that makes his eyes just pop, when he catches Chris' scent. He shakes his head and snorts, but he can't not see Chris if he's around.

The wolf opens up the changing room door and looks out past the shop door, to the open concourse of the mall, and sees Chris, flanked by Scott and Derek.

Derek jerks his chin towards Peter and Chris turns to look right at him.

Peter arches a brow and crosses his arms, leaning against the frame of the trying room's door.

He doesn't miss Chris looking him up and down a moment. He also doesn't miss the crook of Chris' finger as he beckons the werewolf to him. [Neither of the two younger wolves notice, as they are on the far side of Chris.]

Peter weighs his options a moment.

He has a feeling that if he ignores that summons, Chris will walk away without any further ado. And that will be the end of everything.

If he goes, lets the human give him orders, Peter will be acknowledging a lot of things to himself and to Chris, things that maybe he hasn't really explored within himself yet. The payoff is that he might get something real with Chris.

It's a gamble. Desire vs. Pride. Heart vs. Head.

For the first time in his life, Peter Hale chooses with his heart.

Without looking down, he slices away the sensor that would alert the store that he's still wearing its property, and he saunters towards Chris, never once breaking eye contact.

Chris watches him come, twisting his hand so that it lays out, palm upward.

Peter doesn't have a fucking _clue_ what is happening here, but he sets his hand on Chris' hesitantly.

Chris finally says something, and it's in Latin. Archaic Latin to be precise, and it takes his brain a moment to come up with the translation.

“ _...Argent, make this claim...”_

Peter's face must give away his reaction, because Chris' eyes sparkle with amusement and his lips smirk up a bit.

Chris is reciting the ancient ritual of Claiming.

Now Peter knows why Derek and Scott are here. _Nearest relative and allegiant Alpha._ And well, it doesn't get much more public than in the fucking middle of a mall.

Peter arches a brow as Chris goes on, eyes boring into the older man's because this isn't just a mating ritual, Chris is also using the language that puts him as pack leader. He's claiming Peter as his mate _and_ beta.

Chris finishes his statement of intent _flawlessly_ , which shouldn't be as damned sexy as it is. He never looks away from Peter. The werewolf can hear the truth in everything Chris has said, every promise to protect and provide.

Peter looks into Chris's eyes and accepts the claiming, both of them, his voice soft.

Chris reaches out and grabs the two halves of where the blue shirt still lies open and pulls Peter close. He leans in and whispers against Peter's lips before pressing his to them.

Peter feels the magic, the bond to Chris snap into place, knows Scott and probably Stiles are finishing the ritual in the background, but the only thing he can hear right now is that single word breathed into his lips by Chris.

“Mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: Bring Me To Life by Evanescence
> 
> Please let me know if I need to tag anything. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


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